


At Center Ice

by catwrites



Series: Open Ice [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:31:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwrites/pseuds/catwrites
Summary: When Connor gets traded to Detroit, he gets the chance he's always wanted to prove himself on the top line. He gets teammates he actually likes. He gets to be closer to home. It's a dream come true.He might even get a boyfriend out of it, if he can figure out how one goes about asking their captain out on a date.(Hockey Au, anyone?)





	At Center Ice

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Howdy. Here's the hockey!au no one wanted because apparently I like writing sports aus. But like, you guys. They're in DETROIT. There's hockey footage on the TVs! How could I not. So, in honor of the new season, or at least preseason, starting today, have some hockey fic.
> 
> Not beta'd. The usual.

If Connor has learned anything about professional sports, it's that you have to be adaptable. When Connor got called up, he was all young ambition and wide-eyed enthusiasm to be up with the big boys. It became apparently clear that he wasn't the power house he had been on the minor team. The big leagues already have their stars, their well-established playmakers, their go-to guys. 

Connor's good, but he's not that good. He realizes pretty quickly that he'll have to find a niche that the team lacks and take that spot for himself if he wants to not be disposable. So, he does. He finds the hole in their lineup, and he slots himself in there to make himself irreplaceable. 

He’s never been what anyone would have considered an agitator when he was down in the minors. He was a capable two-way forward in the American League. More than that, he was one of the AHL’s top scorers. Then, he gets the callup, does what he has to do, and makes a name for himself. 

He was never a fighter, before. He’s not the tallest player, nor the heaviest, so when someone had to answer for a dirty play or their team was looking to change the energy of the game, he wasn’t the one that dropped ‘em.

He’s a smart kid, though. He realizes fast that they don’t need another two-way forward. They need some physicality. They need someone who isn’t afraid to do the dirty work, to take the hard hits and ultimately challenge anyone who thinks they can get away with flattening the guys the team depends on to score goals.

So, he learns to fight, and he does it well.

Drop his gloves. Get a good grip on the other guy. Get a hand free. If the guy is taller than him, move in closer. Move out if they’re shorter. Aim for the lower part of the face. Avoid the helmet, the visor. Quickest way to bloody knuckles is hitting hard plastic. If you can get the helmet off the other guy, even better. Don’t let his own helmet fall. Don’t let the other guy get a hand free. If he’s losing, make sure he ends up on top when they go to the ice. 

Don’t tap out, no matter how bloodied he gets.

He knows the crowd goes crazy for a fight. He knows the building gets loud. The benches and the audience and the refs. When he’s in it, though, everything is blessedly silent. There’s no silence in the rest of the game. It’s chirping the other guy until they slash him across the wrist. It’s calculating how fast he needs to be to beat the other guy to the puck in the corner. 

It’s ignoring the part of himself the screams at him to do better, to prove himself. To show them he can do what the best of the best do, too. He has the skill. He didn’t work sun up, sun down every summer of his childhood just to push away all his friends.

He racks up penalty minutes, instead, and enough points that he feels like he isn’t completely wasting his potential.

Before his first full season in the NHL, his coach sits him down and outlines in no uncertain terms what his role on the team will be. What’s expected on him. He’s freshly called up, and green under the collar with it, but he wants to keep his spot on the roster. He wants to be in the NHL.

He nods.

He says, “Yes sir”.

He says, “I understand, sir”.

He says, “Thank you for this opportunity, sir”.

So, he becomes the kind of player people only like on their team when they’re winning. He doesn’t think about how he can do more than that for them. He doesn’t think about how he could play top line minutes, if they let him. He doesn’t think about how he’s a faster skater than some of the guys they put up on a pedestal. He doesn’t think about the borderline hits, or the probably dirty checks. He definitely doesn’t look at what people say about him online. Doesn’t read his own press, doesn’t listen to what other players say about him in the post games. 

He does his best to make up for the on-ice stuff with his locker room presence, with his off-ice contributions. He’s the first to volunteer for media availability. He goes out and meets with fans after every practice. He signs pucks and jerseys. He smiles for pictures. He stays late on the ice, shows up first. He helps clean up pucks with the rookies. 

His teammates will go to bat for him, and that has to be enough. He’ll make sure it’s enough.

Cole doesn’t like it, when he finds the time to skype back home.

“You’re not a fighter, Connor,” he says, mouth a pinched line as he looks at the stitches over his eyebrow. 

“If coach says I’m a fighter, then I’m a fighter,” he says with a self-depreciating smile.

He scowls. “Your coach is utilizing his assets in the worst possible way. He has one of the best potential centers in the league playing wing, in turn making a guy who’s played wing his entire career play center because he’d rather his team suffer than admit to being wrong. All the numbers back it up. You know it’s true.”

Connor can’t help but smile at him, feeling the pull of the bruise on his cheek. Cole’s a big hockey fan, and he likes numbers. Connor thinks Cole probably knows more about corsi and fenwick than most of the players do. He keeps an extra close watch on his brothers, tracking their numbers in excel and showing them all in excitement when he gets the graph to do something particularly impressive.

“I appreciate your support, but until you’re running your own team, I’m stuck where I am.”

Cole makes a considering noise, and Connor shakes his head quickly.

“I didn’t mean that as a viable option, Cole. You need to finish middle school, first. Then maybe you can buy a team, and prove to them how wrong they are.”

“They are, though. They’re wrong. Eventually, they’ll see it. You’re not an agitator, Connor. You’re not a fighter. You’re too good for all that.”

“Until then, I’m a pesky winger with a big mouth and hot temper.”

Cole grins. “You’ve always been one of those.”

“Enough about me. How’s school? How’s dad?”

So Cole rants about life at home, how unfair it is that he has to miss Connor’s game when he’s in town next because of homework, and Connor listens.

Eventually, their father pushes into the room, and frowns.

“Time for bed, squirt.”

“But I’m talking to Connor!”

Hank glances at the computer screen. “So am I.”

Connor grins. “It’s okay, Cole. I have an early practice in the morning. Let me talk to dad for a second.”

Cole scowls at the two of them, before throwing his hands up dramatically. “Fine. I’ll go get ready for bed.”

Hank sits down at the desk chair once Cole vacates the room.

“How are you, kid?” 

Connor shrugs. “I’m okay.”

“Watched your game last night. You know, you’re going to give this poor old man a heart attack, making me watch shit like that. If I knew you were gonna do that, I’d have gone to bed on time.”

Connor snorts. “Don’t even lie. You would have still been up to watch Nines play on the West coast.”

“Yeah, cause he never gets in fights. I don’t know where I went wrong with you and that other little shit.”

“Nines is a goalie. They won’t _let_ him fight. Plus, everyone is scared of him. He just throws things instead.”

Hank scowls. “Watching his meltdowns is still funnier than watching my other kids get the shit beat out of them.”

Cole comes back in just in time to interrupt them. “Connor wins the statistical majority of his fights. I can show you the graph, if you want.”

Hank inclines his head. “Okay, watching one of my kids get the shit beat out of him.”

Cole smiles, and Hank ruffles his hair. “It really is passed your bedtime. Say goodnight to Connor.”

Cole grumbles, but eventually does. 

“Nice goal in the second, by the way,” Hank says after Cole disappears off screen.

“Thanks.”

Hank shakes his head. “Try and at least let those stitches get taken out before your next fight.”

Connor smiles softly. “I’ll try my best. Goodnight, dad.”

\----

He wakes up and most days he aches. For a few minutes each morning, he stares at his ceiling and does a mental check of what hurts the most. Shoulder, mostly.

Today, his eye throbs gently in reminder of the errant elbow he took in the game the day before.

Breathe through it. Swing his legs over the side of the bed. Dig his toes into the carpet. Wait. Stand up. Grimace. Knee too, apparently. Shuffle to the bathroom. Two pain killers swallowed dry. (Over the counter stuff, never prescription. That’s a road he doesn’t want to go down, not now, not ever. He's seen what that does to even good players, like Leo Manfred.) Get ready for practice or morning skate.

It's a routine, now. Three seasons of this, and it never changes.

He's a professional athlete. It's all he knows how to be.

At practice, he laughs with the guys. He does the drills, talks to the trainers about the tightness in his shoulders. As he’s getting ready to leave, bag slung over his shoulder, the coach calls him into his office. Amanda is sitting at the desk.

“Pack your bags. We dealt you,” Amanda says, standing up when he comes in.

Connor drops his gear. “What?”

“Sorry, Anderson. It’s just, the team is moving away from physical play. The whole league is moving toward speed.”

Connor doesn’t try and explain that he has speed, if someone would just let him _skate_.

“Where?”

“We got you to Detroit. Figured we owed you at least that much.”

A small mercy, that at least. He tries to remind himself that he always dreamed of playing for Detroit. They were his team growing up. Hometown boy getting to play for his hometown team is always everyone’s dream.

He nods. “I understand.”

He says, “Thank you for everything.”

He doesn’t ask why. 

He doesn’t ask who or what they got in return. He goes home, packs enough to last him a couple weeks, and sets up a moving company to take care of the rest. 

**[15 unread messages]**  
**[missed calls: 4, ICE Dad]**  
**[3 new voicemails]**

**[unknown number]**

**1:07pm:** welcome to the team!  
**1:07pm:** oh, this is Markus btw.  
**1:07pm:** Manfred.  
**1:08pm:** sorry, I got your number from the front office. I hope that’s okay.

 

**[Triple Threat]**

**Nines, 1:12pm:** Sucks, bro. You okay?  
**Cujo, 1:13pm:** wtf  
**Cujo, 1:13pm:** wait, detroit? no fair  
**Nines, 1:14pm:** Just because he’s going to detroit doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.  
**Cujo, 1:14pm:** i know that asshole, just saying. it could be worse  
**Nines 1:48pm:** Call dad.  
**Cujo, 1:49pm:** ^ what he said.

 

**[Cole :)]**

**1:17pm:** does this mean you’re coming back home?!  
**1:47pm:** uh, dad wants you to call him lol

 

**[ICE Dad]**

**1:20pm:** Cole just told me. Are you okay?  
**1:45pm:** Answer your phone, you little shit.

 

**New voicemail, received today at 1:21pm**

_“Connor, Cole told me about the trade. Just calling to make sure you’re okay.”_

**New voicemail, received today at 1:35pm**

_“Do you want me to come get you from the airport or is someone from the team coming to get you? I can clean out your room. I think there’s trophies and shit in there but I can shove it all into Curtis's room.”_

**New voicemail, received today at 1:44pm**

_“Connor! Answer your fucking phone, Jesus Christ.”_

\----

It’s always uncomfortable going into a new locker room. Dynamics are always different. Friendships are well established. Leadership and coaching styles are new. It’s hard to fit in. Connor has never been good at fitting in. 

It doesn’t help that he’s made a lot of enemies, playing the game the way he does. 

Gavin Reed is one of those enemies. Reed isn’t really an enforcer, but he definitely doesn’t shy away from a fight. Connor’s probably fought him every game they’ve played against each other. 

Reed once speared him in the groin, and when asked about the $5,000 fine he’d been slapped with, calmly told the reporter it was the best money he’d ever spent. Honestly, it was a good answer, and Connor can appreciate the humor of it.

Then there’s Kelly North, who he’s also dropped his gloves with once. He never made that mistake again. She laid him out flat. He’s always been an outspoken supporter of the women in the NHL, and she definitely didn’t dissuade him of that opinion. North was one of the first in the league, so she learned to stand up for herself early on in her career.

His only saving grace is that the season has barely begun. It’d be even worse to come into a team that has a season well established.

Detroit’s current team roster is an interesting one, which is in no small part due to the experimental structure brought on by the owner, Elijah Kamski, and the GM, his wife Chloe. They were the first team to sign a woman in North, then the first team to sign a married couple in Kara and Luther Williams.

The players sing nothing but praise of the front office. Connor certainly can’t say the same thing for his last team. Seattle is one of the younger teams in the league, and is somehow still trying to work out the kinks in its roster and staffing. A nice way of saying they’re a hot mess.

Connor is, somewhat disloyally, not sad to be out of there. He just hopes he can adjust well to the new team.

Markus has already reached out to him, and they’ve been in constant contact since the trade happened. He doesn’t think Seattle’s captain ever made that kind of effort with new teammates.

He has to get to Detroit first. 

Amanda makes him come into the icehouse on his way to the airport to talk to the media one last time before he’s gone. Just because he’s willing to do press, doesn't mean he enjoys it any more than the other players. He just feels like he’s always one wrong word away from making a fool of himself. 

He doesn’t think he should have to talk to Seattle’s press when he needs to be at the airport in two hours. It’s an early flight because he has to make it to Detroit in time to get to the rink for practice with his new team, but Connor always does what he’s told. He goes to meet the press.

It starts off as it should. He thanks the city. He thanks the fans and his teammates for their support. He thanks management for the opportunities they gave him.

Then, one of the reporters raises his hand.

“So, you and Kelly North once got into on the ice. Are you worried about how your dynamic on the team will be affected by this? It has to be embarrassing to lose a fight like that.”

Connor feels his placid media expression drop into something flat. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you lost to her pretty badly. I was just wondering if the dynamic between the two of you would be tense because of that.”

Connor shakes his head. “Oh no, I understood the question. I just didn’t realize anyone was going to be that blatantly sexist in this media session.”

The guy’s eyes widen, startled. “That’s not-“

Connor puts a hand up and interrupts him. “That’s exactly what it is. I’ve also fought with Gavin Reed. Frequently, in fact. Instead you chose to ask about North. I’ve lost fights to Reed too, so clearly it wasn’t about my fight record, but the fact that I lost to North specifically. You want to know if my relationship with North will be tense because you think it’s embarrassing that I lost a fight to a woman.”

Connor leans closer to the microphone. “Let me make this clear. North is a phenomenal player. She wouldn’t be in the league if she wasn’t. She also throws a mean punch. In fact, Mr.-?”

The man shakes his head, embarrassed. 

“Oh no, you’ve already started this.”

“Henderson.”

“Mr. Henderson, I can guarantee you that the only thing I felt when she beat me was admiration. I am extremely grateful to now be playing with her, as opposed to against her. Now, if you all will excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”

Connor steps away from the podium and leaves the room. Amanda looks sour as he walks by, but he figures she’s not his problem anymore. 

\----

As much as Connor would like the comfort of having his father and Cole come get him, he accepts Markus’s offer of a ride instead. Markus had said something about ‘captainly duty’, and ‘really it’s no trouble, I would be happy to do it’, and ‘then we can get to practice together in the morning and I can show you around’.

So when Connor gets out to the baggage claim, Markus is waiting with North and Simon. They’re holding a big sign that has his name and jersey number printed on it. It looks like they even managed to snag his gear bag off the belt. (It’s kind of hard to miss the giant Seattle logo on it.) The other passengers in the airport are giving them curious looks, but respectfully keeping their distance. 

Markus smiles as soon as he sees him, and waves him over. “Connor!”

Connor doesn’t know Markus all that well. He’s never even really played against him. Markus plays top line minutes, and Connor was lucky to get consistent shifts on the fourth.

“Hi,” Connor greets when he finally gets close enough.

“Good to formally meet you,” Markus says with a grin as they shake hands.

Connor’s seen Markus before, obviously, but being on the receiving end of his smile and pinned under his multi-colored gaze is way different than seeing his pressers after a game or watching him zip by the bench down the ice.

“Uh, you too,” Connor says, feeling dazed.

Simon smiles at him when Markus steps back. “Hey.”

North bumps him gently out of the way with her hip when he’s finished shaking Connor’s hand. 

“I heard your press conference this morning. Whatever beef we had once is well and done after you so genuinely tore that guy apart on my behalf. No one on another team has ever stood up for me before. We’re going to be best friends,” North says, grinning brightly and linking her arm through his.

Connor looks down uncertainly at his gear bag when North doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to free up his arm for carrying it.

She waves dismissively towards Markus. “Captain Manfred here will get it, won’t you?”

Markus rolls his eyes, but gamely reaches down and shoulders Connor’s gear. He grins, and shrugs as if to say ‘what can you do?’.

“I can take your duffle from you if you want to skip along with your new bestie,” Simon offers, smiling. 

North smirks, and takes Connor’s duffle from his lax grip, shoving it at their goalie. “Yes, perfect! Thank you. Come along, Connor. We skip now.”

“But-“

“It’s good for your conditioning, too,” North points out.

And well, what can Connor say to argue against that.

“By all means, if it will help the team.”

This is already going better than Connor could have hoped. 

\----

Practice is… rough. Coach keeps shuffling around the lines to try and slot Connor in somewhere that makes sense. The team has a pretty well-established groove. It’s interesting to see them all in action. Connor particularly enjoys watching the defensive drills. Kara and Luther are so in-sync that their giant disparity in size doesn’t even register. 

The surprisingly easy friendship he’s managed to strike up with the team’s leadership doesn’t help him mesh with everyone.

“Looks like we got a tough guy to fill your shoes, Reed. Guess management is tired of watching you get the snot kicked out of you,” Tina calls from where she’s leaning against her stick by the blueline. 

“Fuck off, Chen,” Reed replies scowling in Connor direction as he steps out onto the ice.

Coach pats him on the shoulder at the end of the session and says they’ll figure it out. 

As everyone else files off, Connor takes a few laps around the ice to gather his thoughts. He likes skating. He likes the way the cold air hits his face. It’s like flying. 

He’s watching his skates when another pair appear in his line of view. He glances over to see Markus skating at his side easily. 

“Hey, don’t sweat it. It always takes some adjustment. You’ll do great here.” 

He smiles gratefully at Markus, and follows him off into the locker room on the next pass.

He’s taking off his pads when Reed stops in front of his stall.

“Just because you’re buddy, buddy with the captain doesn’t mean I have to like you. North might not want to punch your lights out anymore, but I still owe you one for last time. Don’t test me.”

Connor watches him walk away with a grimace. 

When Connor finally gets to his childhood home, Hank and Cole are already waiting with dinner. 

“We made all your favorites!” Cole exclaims happily, tugging Connor into the kitchen by the hand.

Connor smiles at him, and yanks him up into a bear hug.

Hank watches them with a smile. 

Connor takes a picture of the food and sends it to his brothers.

 

**[Triple Threat]**

**me, 6:32pm:** [attachment: 2038091_2113.jpg]  
**Cujo, 6:34pm:** fuck you  >:(  
**Nines, 6:35pm:** [attachment: 2038012_2324.jpg]  
**me, 6:35pm:** Did you really get one of your teammates to take a picture of you flipping me off? Mature.  
**Nines, 6:36pm:** [attachment: 2038012_2325.jpg]  
**Cujo, 6:36pm:** omg did your coach take one of the team flipping him off?  
**Nines, 6:37pm:** No, the trainer.  
**Cujo, 6:37pm:** youre my hero

 

Connor laughs, setting his phone down on the table. Being at home is almost like he never left.

“Hey, hey! Eat your vegetables,” Hank says, gesturing with his fork.

“I am!” Cole indicates the diminished pile of greens on his plate.

“I see you giving them to Sumo. Nice try.”

Connor smiles at his own plate, and thinks perhaps this trade might work out for the better after all.

\----

Connor’s first few games go okay. They’re nothing to write home about, but they definitely could be worse, for sure. 

He’s playing on the third line, which is more ice time than he’s seen since his days in the AHL.

He settles into his routine again, and finds a rhythm that works with his new team.

Markus calls him on one of their off days. “I know this is probably dumb, since we play hockey for a living and you probably want a break, but North, Josh, and I were going to play some two-on-two, if you wanted to come.”

Connor raises an eyebrow even though Markus can’t see it. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Then I guess we play two-on-one, and they gang up on me like usual,” Markus says easily. 

He can hear North protesting in the background.

“Simon’s goalie,” Markus adds, as if Connor had any doubts that the three of them would do anything without Simon.

“Yeah, okay.”

He shows up, skates and stick in hand. 

North smiles at him when he shows up. “I call Connor.”

“You’re going to regret that,” Connor says easily.

“Why?” she asks curiously, as Markus ties her skates for her. Connor raises an eyebrow. “Oh, he lost a bet. Now, why am I going to regret you?”

“Because we’re going to lose. What bet?”

“I said you would want to hang out with us because we’re great. Markus thought you wouldn’t want to be bothered.”

Markus flushes. “I just figured since you haven’t seen your dad and little brother much you might want to hang out with them on your days off. It’s not that I didn’t want you here!”

Connor smiles. “I love them, but sometimes I need to get out. Plus, Cole and I broke a window practicing slapshots before you called. Well, technically _Cole_ broke the window, but I’m the “responsible adult”. I used you as an excuse to stop the disappointed father speech before he could really get going.”

North laughs, delighted. “I definitely want you on my team.”

Josh whistles. “You just left your little brother to take the heat? That’s cold, man.”

Connor shrugs. “He’ll have to learn to fend for himself eventually. I already said I’d replace the glass. There’s nothing more I can do for him.” 

Simon laughs. “Poor Cole.”

“Cole’s the favorite. He’ll be okay,” Connor says dismissively with a grin.

“I thought parents weren’t supposed to pick favorites.”

“Yeah, well, Cole is everyone’s favorite. Plus, the three of us are terrible. I’m me, Curtis is an idiot, and Nines is fucking weird.”

“Nines _is_ a goalie,” Markus points out, like that explains everything.

It does, but Simon looks offended.

“Hey!”

“Question, though. It’s always bugged me. Nines? I know it’s not just for his jersey number.” North asks, interrupting Simon’s pouting.

“Curtis couldn’t say his name as a kid. Somehow Conan became Oh-nins became Nines. It kind of stuck. While Nines pretends to be an asshole, he’s sentimental as hell and picked nine for his number when we started playing hockey.”

“And Cujo?” Markus asks.

“Curtis used to bark when he got mad. We really don’t know why.”

North cackles. “Oh my god, I can’t wait to chirp him about that when we play them next.”

“With the triplet talk out of the way, do we want to play or what?” Josh asks, tapping his stick on the ice.

“We want to play. I have to drag this out as long as I can so I don’t get yelled at about a window,” Connor agrees.

“Well, as long as you try hard we can keep things even,” Markus says with a smirk.

“Are you saying I won’t try hard? Is that a challenge?” Connor asks, glancing at North as she stands up and test the tightness of her laces.

“It’s a challenge,” North agrees. 

Simon shakes his head. “Now look what you’ve done.”

When everyone is ready and standing on the ice, Markus drops the puck down to sit at center ice. “So, rules. Puck goes on the dot. Count of three, the teams’ centers face off on the bench-penalty box side so no one team has the advantage of getting to win it back towards the gaol. Since we only have one goalie, if the puck gets turned over in the zone it has to be brought back in. Like an offside.” 

Connor nods. “Sounds fair to me.”

North taps her stick on the ice. “No more rules. Time to play!”

“Do you want to take the faceoff?” Connor offers.

“Against Markus? Hell no, thanks. All yours,” she says, grinning as she sets up behind him by the bench door.

Connor’s never been good at faceoffs, so it’s not a surprise to him when he loses it. Markus easily slides it back to Josh who takes off towards Simon. 

Connor manages to get it back in the corner, but Markus intercepts his pass to North. Eventually, Markus slides it five-hole on Simon, just under his leg as he drops it down to try and block the shot.

Josh scores the next one, and Markus hoist his stick up in celebration before he winks at Connor. Connor narrows his eyes. Connor doesn’t like to lose. 

“Take this face off, and lose it,” Connor tells North quietly as they skate back to set up. 

“What?”

“When Josh gets the puck, he always does the same thing. He catches it on his backhand and then tries to get it into the corner. We can get it from him before he hits the blueline.”

North looks curious, nodding as she sets up.

Markus looks at her suspiciously, but she just grins sunnily at him.

North loses the faceoff. Markus sweeps the puck back, and Josh catches it the same way he always does, and takes off to try and get to the corner on Simon’s left. 

Connor’s faster. He cuts Josh off, poke-checking the puck off Josh’s stick and pulling it back. He lets it slide between his legs to where he knows North is. He skates ahead, catching her pass when she sends it, and he shoots it high blocker side on Simon. 

North whoops when it goes in.

“Hell yeah, Connor! That was great! I knew I picked the right teammate.” 

Markus is watching him like he’s suddenly offered up a puzzle to solve. 

“Pfft. But can you guys do it again?” Josh teases. 

Connor grins. 

The thing is, Connor loves playing hockey. He loves the game, loves the skills it takes. He’s spent his entire life training to do this. He could be so good, if one of the coaches took a chance and let him.

Amanda and the coach in Seattle had picked his place for him. Now, though, no one is expecting anything of him. This is just for fun, so he can have _fun_.

So he does all those things they’ve told him aren’t his job. He spins. He stops short and dodges around Markus or Josh. He kicks the puck with the blade of his skate forward if his stick gets tied up. He skates fast, reads the passes, reads North. They do make a good team, once Connor’s loosened up.

In fact, they’re winning.

It’s 5-3, and Connor has basically been playing keep away from Markus this round. He doesn’t even realize that Josh and North are standing together watching them until he manages to slide it home behind Simon. 

He turns around with a grin, only to see everyone staring at him.

“What?”

“What the _hell_ was that?” Markus asks, leaning over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Connor looks to the others for help, but they look equally wide eyed. 

“I was just-“ 

Markus straightens up. “No one is mad, Connor. I mean, actually I’m a little mad. If you can do stuff like _that_ why don’t you play like that in the games?”

Connor shifts uncomfortably as they all look at him. “In Seattle, they said I was better utilized doing the physical work. I just did what I was told. The GM and the coach over there told me how to play, so that’s what I did.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t they want the players to play their best?” Simon asks, pulling his mask off his head.

Connor shrugs helplessly. “I just did what I was told to do.”

Markus looks pensive. “How about we go get a late lunch? You did what you were told was best for your team. I can respect that.”

Connor nods thankfully, and figures that will be the end of it.

Except, apparently, it’s not. Markus calls him the next evening. They have an early morning skate and a game in the evening tomorrow. It’s late enough that Connor is considering turning in so he’s well rested.

“Hey, can I come over? I need to talk to you about something.”

“Uh, sure.”

“Be there in fifteen.” 

Connor stares at the phone in surprise. 

“Who was that?” Hank asks, glancing over from his spot on the couch.

“Markus. Said he wants to talk to me about something.”

“What about?”

Connor shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Markus knocks on the door almost exactly fifteen minutes later, standing on the front porch with a laptop shoved under his arm.

“Hey, so you made me curious,” Markus says, practically pushing through Connor to get inside, so focused on his thoughts.

“I looked you up. My mistake when you first got traded was just looking at your Seattle days.”

“You watched my tape when I was traded?” 

Markus waves dismissively. “Of course. But see, I should have looked back further. Connor, they could have made highlight reels out of your college and AHL careers. The fact that they called you up just to use you as some muscle is the worst tragedy in hockey history.”

Markus is in the process of setting up the laptop on the kitchen table, pulling up files and opening documents.

“Look at this shit, Connor!” 

Connor does. 

“Before you began playing for Seattle, your shot attempts were well over triple what they were after you got called up. Your shot percentage was almost thirty percent. Do you understand how incredible that is? Mine hovers around twenty-six. And look!”

Markus switches over to another graph. “Look. Your corsi percentage was nearly sixty-five.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him!” Cole says, appearing suddenly in his pajamas.

“A smart man, clearly,” Markus says, gesturing to Cole as if Cole is all the justification he needs and not a eleven-year-old boy with hero-worship for his brother.

“Okay?” Connor says slowly, because he honestly doesn’t know where this is going.

“Okay, so I talked to coach. You shouldn’t be on the third line. It’s a waste to have you there. Plus, you should be getting special teams play. With your possession numbers, we could really use you on the penalty kill, and I’d love to see your SV% on the powerplay.”

Connor feels his eyes go wide. “What? No, no, no.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Markus says, shutting his laptop with a sense of finality. “Come on, Connor. You know you’re better than what they’ve been making you do.”

“He’s right, Connor,” Cole adds, before Hank seems to realize that he’s still up and comes in to usher him back to bed.

Connor squirms under Markus’s scrutiny once the distraction Cole provided is removed. He does know. He’s wanted the chance to prove himself, but something about Markus being the one to go argue for him makes him nervous. What if he’s been building himself up without any real backing? 

He’s never played the big minutes in the NHL. They never let him. Maybe he really isn’t cut out for it, and he just doesn’t know. Perhaps Amanda and everyone in Seattle knew without having to see the proof.

In the morning, Connor slinks into practice and hopes no one will look at him. 

“Anderson!”

He freezes.

“Anderson, get over here. Need to talk to you about something.”

That’s how Connor finds himself running drills in practice with Markus as his center and North on leftwing, trying not to panic.

Connor doesn’t talk to the press after practice, but he listens to Markus talking from across the locker room.

“Yeah, he was running drills with my line.”

“That’s a pretty big leap for him, isn’t it?”

Markus scowls. “It’s not. You can find all the information to back that up for yourself. He played how he was told to back in Seattle and hasn’t lived up to his full potential.”

“You sound confident.”

Markus nods sharply. “Yeah, I am.”

Connor goes home, takes his pregame nap, and pretends he isn’t on the verge of some kind of panic attack.

 

**[Triple Threat]**

**me, 5:17pm:** Markus talked to coach and now I’m going to be on the first line in tonight’s game. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.  
**Cujo, 5:20pm:** what do you mean you don’t know what you’re going to do??? you’re going to play of course. it’s about time you got to play the actual game and not play the players  
**Nines, 5:21pm:** You’re going to do fine.

 

In the tunnel, getting ready to walk out, Connor feels himself shaking.

“This is a mistake, Markus.”

Markus touches their helmets together. “No, it’s not. I believe in you, okay?”

The game goes… surprisingly okay. Connor’s on the ice for three of their four goals. He even managed to score one himself, though the other two were Markus, and then finally Gavin sent one into the empty net to seal the deal.

They win 4-1.

“How did it feel to play on the top line with Markus and North?”

Connor shakes his head, still somewhat dazed. “It was incredible. They’re both amazing players. I’m just glad I was able to help out the team.”

Markus bumps their shoulders together on the way out to the team bus. “I told you it wasn’t a mistake. Nice goal. Plus, the assists. We wouldn’t have had half those goals without your play making.”

Connor ducks his head, flushing in embarrassment. “Thanks. Thanks for getting me the opportunity.”

Markus smiles. “Of course, Connor. You deserve it.”

They win their next four games.

Connor stays on the top line. He’s getting more comfortable, feeling almost like he belongs finally.

He gets time on the powerplay. He gets put on the top penalty kill unit with Markus, Kara, and Luther.

Reed snaps his stick at the end of practice one day, and glares at him.

“What made you suddenly so good, huh? You doping, or what?”

Connor stares at him. “Of course not.”

“So what’s your deal, then?”

“Nothing. I was told to play physical before, that’s all. Seattle didn’t need me to be anything more than that.”

Reed sneers. “So you just like fighting, then, is that it?”

“I hated it. More than anything. I didn’t want to do any of that. I did what I was told the team needed me to do. I did everything I did for the sake of the team.”

Reed looks at him skeptically, before he skates off the ice without another word.

Simon pats him on the shoulder, as Luther catches gentle hold of North’s shoulder before she can take off to defend Connor’s honor.

“Don’t mind him. He’s having a tough season. He tore a tendon in the off season and his PT isn’t going as well as he was hoping. He’s still sore.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. He’s just a fucking asshole,” North says with angry scowl, shrugging out of Luther’s grip.

“I just don’t think it’s anything personal,” Simon says easily.

Connor wishes he could see the good in everyone the way Simon does because it honestly feels kind of personal.

The season continues. Connor has good games, he has bad games. The team has good games, the team has bad games. It’s the way things go.

January starts with them comfortably sitting in second place in their conference. As long as they keep pace, they’ll make the playoffs without a problem.

Connor likes playing in Detroit. He likes his teammates. Even Reed has started to warm up to him.

In mid-January, Connor gets hit from behind into the boards. He hits his face on the dashers, and falls awkwardly to his knees. The play is whistled dead as soon as he hits the ice. Markus kneels at his side.

“You okay?” Markus asks, concerned. 

Connor spits blood onto the ice and test to see if any of his teeth are loose. “I’m okay. Cut my lip with my teeth, and busted it up on the boards.”

Markus offers him a hand up. “You should probably get that looked at. I think you might need stitches.”

Connor runs his tongue over the cut, and thinks he probably does. He scowls as he skates over to the bench.

While he’s in the trainer’s room, he sees the replay of the hit. It should have gotten a penalty. At least a minor for boarding. The other guy got him square in the numbers while he was within two feet of the boards. 

The trainer finishes his stitches and warily clears him to return to the game with the full cage on. Connor begrudgingly puts it on, and makes it back out to the bench just in time to see Reed drop his gloves right at the visitor’s bench with the guy Connor knows hit him.

“Looks like even Gavin can’t stand to see you in the fishbowl, Connor,” North says, looking him over as he squeezes in next to her and Markus.

Markus looks at him with a pinched expression before he focuses back out on the action.

Reed comes out of the fight on top, but keeps arguing with the referee on the way to the penalty box, until finally the ref gestures emphatically to the tunnel.

He gets a two-minute minor for charging, a five-minute major for fighting, and a ten-minute game misconduct for abuse of official. He leaves the ice to the roar of the home team crowd.

Connor approaches him carefully at the end of the game. Reed’s knuckles are bloody and his eye is already darkening into a nasty bruise. 

“Hey, thanks. For sticking up for me.”

Reed looks at him, and then adjust the icepack on his hand with a shrug. “We’re on the same team. Can’t let them push us around. Now that you have soft hands, someone else will have to do the dirty work for you.”

Reed glances up at him, then grins. “Besides, I haven’t had a good fight in a while.”

Markus catches him in the parking lot as he’s about to get into his car. 

“I meant to check and make sure you were okay.”

Connor smiles as much as he can with the thread holding his lip together. “I’m okay.”

Markus reaches out to steady Connor’s chin as he looks at the injury. “That asshole should have gotten a penalty. Dirty fucking play, knocking you from behind like that. Dangerous play. You could have done much worse than split your lip in half.”

Connor shrugs, feigning easiness though his insides feel like they’re all in knots with how intently Markus is looking at him. It’s a stark contrast to the gentle way he’s stroking his thumb over Connor’s cheek.

Markus seems to realize what he’s doing and abruptly lets go, pulling his hand back like he was scalded. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Connor says softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice.”

Markus nods. “Yeah, of course. Make sure you ice that or it’s going to swell.”

Connor salutes, before he slips into his car. He watches Markus walk over to his own vehicle, before he leans his forehead on his steering wheel.

Fuck.

It snuck on him, is the thing. Connor doesn’t like to be blindsided by anything, and this? This is a big _something_.

 

**[Triple Threat]**

**me, 3:45am:** I need advice.  
**Cujo, 3:45am:** wtf man, it’s almost 4am  
**me, 3:46am:** Curt, please.  
**Nines, 3:46am:** Must be serious.  
**me, 3:48am:** Very. Hypothetically speaking, if you suddenly found yourself developing feelings for someone you shouldn’t, how would you go about distancing yourself from them without making it obvious?  
**Cujo, 3:49am:** wow this was definitely worth waking up for. who is it?  
**Nines, 3:50am:** I think it’s quite obvious, Curtis. Connor, just tell him how you feel. I’ve seen the interviews and the YouTube compilations. If Markus doesn’t feel the same way, I’ll retire now.  
**Cujo, 3:50am:** wtf no way markus?!?!  
**me, 3:51am:** Conan, you asshole! Don’t spread that around.  
**Nines, 3:52am:** Tell him. I’m going back to sleep.

 

Connor glares at his phone before pulling his pillow over his face with a groan.

After a minute, curiosity gets the better of him, and he tries to find what Nines must have been talking about.

He finds plenty, and it definitely gives him pause.

Huh.

\----

Connor invites North to lunch after practice, even though he knows it’s probably a bad idea.

“Of course, but you’re paying,” she says with a sweet smile, flipping her hair over her should before grabbing her gear and heading for the player lot. “I’ll meet you there.”

Connor already regrets this.

“So what can I help you with?” North asks, stabbing gleefully into her burrito bowl.

“Why can’t I have just invited you to lunch?”

North looks at him like he’s insulted her intelligence. “If this was just lunch, you would have at least invited Markus along as well. Probably Simon and Josh, too. Maybe Kara and Luther. Perhaps even Gavin. Therefore, you wanted to talk to me alone. I assume it must be about one of the people I mentioned, though my initial guess is this is about Markus.”

Connor stares at his lunch. “Didn’t know you were a detective.” 

North laughs, and reaches over the table to gently pat his hand. “I pay attention every now and then.”

“So maybe this is about Markus.” 

“Please tell me it’s about his monster crush on you. Listen, I can’t handle him waxing poetic about you much longer. I might strangle him.”

“No, it’s not about- Wait, what?” 

North raises an eyebrow. “So, this is about your gigantic crush on Markus. Even better.”

Connor can’t figure out what to say. He opens his mouth a few times but nothing comes out.

“Look, I told you I pay attention. Your heart eyes are so loud I can hardly hear coach over them sometimes. Markus just talks non-stop about your hockey whenever you’re not around, which for him is basically a proposal.”

“Just because he talks about my hockey doesn’t mean he likes me,” Connor says defiantly. 

North levels him with a look. “I’ve known him longer than you. Trust me, he likes you. A lot. The he would have fought Ward if Gavin hadn’t done it for you kind of a lot.”

“That’s-“

“Crazy, I know. Markus can’t fight to save his life. He’s fought once in his career, and I think he ended up tangled in his own jersey more than anything.”

Connor looks at her helplessly, and her grin fades into something more serious. 

“What is it about you two knuckleheads that you won’t listen to me when I state the obvious? Connor, listen. That boy is crazy about you, and you obviously feel the same. Now, the only thing left to do is figure out how you want to handle it.”

“What would you recommend?”

North smirks at him. “I’m so glad you asked. We need Markus to acknowledge the fact that you like him back. He’s not going to make any moves until he’s sure. He’ll feel all noble and captain-y about it otherwise. We need to test the waters a little to see how much of a nudge it’s going to take.”

“Is this really necessary?” Connor asks, coming out of the fitting room so North can look him over with a critical eye.

“Yes, it is. Tell him Kara.”

Kara looks up from the rack of jackets she’s contemplating. “It’s necessary. You need a suit that fits regardless of its purpose.”

“What’s wrong with the suits I have?”

“Nothing,” Kara assures him, too quickly.

“There’s nothing good about them, either,” North adds.

Connor frowns, but before he can reply, North is shoving him back into the fitting room with another set of slacks.

“Try these. You’ve got too much ass, dude. We’re going to have to get something custom made.”

Kara nods thoughtfully. “The struggle of the professional athlete build.”

“I doubt basketball players have this much trouble finding decent slacks,” North complains as Connor dutifully disappears back into the fitting room.

“I just don’t get what this has to do with anything,” Connor calls out to them, trying to shimmy the pants up over his hips. “Also, I think these are too tight.”

“We’re trying to make an _impression_ ,” North calls back. “You’ll see. Now, let us see the slacks.”

Connor steps out.

Kara looks up from the vest she’s holding and stares. North’s eyes go wide.

“I told you they were too tight. I’m taking them off.”

“No, you are not! Those a perfect. They’re not too tight, they actually fit you. Back me up, here, Kara.”

Kara nods. “Those fit you really well.”

“Are you sure?” he asks them skeptically.

“Yes!” they say in unison. 

“You’re definitely getting those,” Kara says, holding out the vest to him. “Put this on.”

Connor does.

“Now roll up your sleeves a little,” North instructs, straightening out the collar of his button down while he rolls up his sleeves as instructed.

When he’s done, North and Kara step back.

North whistles approvingly. “Perfect. Jesus, you’re perfect.”

Connor tugs on the hem of the vest self-consciously. 

Kara smiles at him. “You look great, Connor. You should definitely get all that.”

Connor gets it all. 

“Now, I know you still doubt me about Markus’s feelings. Just wear your new clothes for our next away game, okay? Watch his reaction. We’ll move on to phase two from there,” North tells him as he drops her off at her place after they’ve dropped Kara back at hers.

Their next road trip takes them to the West coast, where they’ll have three games over four days. It’s going to be one of the more strenuous trips of the season. Back-to-back games, and then one day of travel followed by another game. It’s a time to be serious, so Connor feels a little ridiculous as he follows Luther and Kara to the team plane in his new suit. He feels a little better when he gets to where everyone is waiting to board and Markus does a double take.

“Did you get a new suit?” Markus asks, sounding almost hoarse. 

“I did. Does it look okay?”

Markus stares at him before he clears his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, it looks good.”

Connor smiles at him. “Thanks.”

North and Kara subtly high-five behind Markus’s back.

North knocks on his hotel room door after the game, grinning. Connor lets her in, and she immediately stretches out on his bed.

“Perhaps we did too good with the suit. It sounded like he was having an existential crisis. Please tell me you noticed how flustered he was.”

Connor nods. “I may have noticed.”

“Good. I mean, it would have been impossible for you not to notice. He nearly gave himself whiplash trying to look at you.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “So what’s phase two?”

“I feel like phase two could feasibly be you just ask him out already. He nearly choked on his tongue to compliment you.”

Noticing what must be panic on his face, she rolls her eyes. “But we can work on something subtler and build up to that.”

Connor feels like he didn’t get any sleep as he skates for warmups the next day. 

Perhaps that’s why he ends up doing what he does. He hasn’t fought since his trade to Detroit. Honestly, he hasn’t even really considered doing it. Not until he’s standing on the hashmarks for a faceoff and the other team’s winger is chirping him.

“Think you’re such a fucking hot shot now, eh?” 

Connor glances at him, and the letters on his back to get a name. Pavey. 

“How many people did you suck off to get on the first line?”

Connor tries to tune it out, but he’s tired. The puck hits the ice, and Connor’s already dropping his stick and shaking his gloves off. Pavey is all to happy to meet him. Connor gets a fistful of jersey and starts swinging. 

He doesn’t think Pavey manages to land a single hit before they’re in a heap on the ice and the refs are pulling them apart. 

He goes the box, and sits for his five. He pulls his helmet off and wipes the condensation and sweat of his visor with a towel helpfully handed to him by the penalty box attendant. At least he feels more awake now.

When he gets back over to the bench, the equipment manager hands him another jersey. 

“What?” Connor asks, before noticing for the first time the blood staining the white of his away jersey. “Oh, sorry.”

He yanks the ruined one up over his head and tosses it back. He’s only just finished getting himself back in order when coach is sending out their line. Connor hops over the boards with North, but their coach has to tap Markus on the shoulder to get his attention. His face looks more flushed than it usually does during a game. Connor wonders if he’s starting to get sick. 

The rest of the game is much less eventful. They lose it in the shoot-out, which sucks, but they have to move on. They’ve got another game the day after tomorrow.

Reed glances at Connor when he finally tramples down the tunnel and into the locker room. “You teach lessons? I could use some pointers. That was a hell of a fight.”

Connor grins. “You asking me to knock you around a little with the pretenses of teaching you to fight?”

Reed actually laughs. “I guess I am.”

“Tomorrow at practice,” Connor promises.

When he turns around, Markus is staring blankly at Connor’s hands. Connor look at his split knuckles and flexes them a little.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad,” Connor assures him.

Markus blinks and then looks at him. “Huh? Oh, yeah. That’s good. I’m glad.”

North sits down on the plane next to him on before anyone else can. The cabin lights are already down low, and their teammates are shuffling by sleepily. They’re traveling overnight so they can be in the next city for practice in the morning. 

“Was the fight your phase two? Because Markus nearly killed himself trying to go for the line change while watching you in the penalty box. He kept whispering ‘oh my god’ to me while it was happening.”

Connor furrows his brows. “No, Pavey just tested my patience too far.”

North laughs. “Well, it served a dual purpose then. Pretty sure he drooled a little watching you go at it like that. You should just ask him out. The teasing is starting to get sad. Or at least make sure he isn’t wearing a cup before you turn him on like that. That’s not comfortable for anyone.”

“North!” Connor hisses, glancing around to make sure none of their teammates overheard. Thankfully, everyone in the near vicinity is already asleep or has headphones on. 

North looks completely unfazed. “We fooled around a couple times. It was a phase, don’t worry. He’s definitely all yours, but basically that means I know what into it looks like on him. And he was into it, Connor. He was beyond into it.”

Connor groans and sinks lower in his seat. “Oh my god, North.”

She shrugs unapologetically. “Now do something about it because I think if we try a phase three he’s going to spontaneously combust.”

“But what if-“

North puts a hand over his mouth. “Connor, I swear to you on the Stanley Cup that he likes you. He. Likes. You. If neither of you are going to make the first move, you’ll force my hand. You don’t want to see how I would handle the situation for you.”

Connor stares at her, eyes wide. She slowly lowers her hand.

“Okay. I’ll think of something.”

She nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, lift your arm rest so we can cuddle and I can sleep comfortably on this damn plane.”

Thinking of something involves a lot of panicking

(“North, what do I do??”  
“Figure it out, Connor! You’re an adult.”)

A lot of late-night messages to his brothers, who are absolutely no help at all.

(Nines: Just fukcing tell him. Oh my god.  
Curitis: omg you’ve annoyed nines into a typo)

And a lot of frantic googling. 

(How to tell someone you like like them  
First date ideas  
First date ideas for taking out boy  
First date ideas for hockey lover  
Please help me dating advice  
How to vanish without a trace  
Getting into the witness protection program)

In his total desperation, he even asks his father.

(“I’m too fucking old for this. I need a beer.”)

Basically, Connor doesn’t have a single idea what he’s doing. Par the course for him, really.

It’s Kara who gives him the idea he needs.

“Oh hey, look, they’re opening a new art museum in Columbus right when we’ll be there for our next game. Markus, check this out. I know you like art.”

Markus hurries over to look at the webpage she has pulled up.

North glances at Kara, then at Markus, then stares Connor down.

Connor takes the hint.

He rehearses what he’s going to say over and over.

In the end, it goes like this:

“Hey, so, Markus. I know, I mean Kara mentioned that art museum in Columbus, and you seemed really excited. I think we’d have time to go see it, and I’d really like it if you went to see it with me. Like, if you went _with_ me. If you want.”

Markus stares at him.

“Or not too. I mean, I’m sure you’d rather go with someone else. I’m just-“

“Connor. Connor! I’d love to go with you.”

Connor grins. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just so I’m clear, this is a date right?”

“I would like it to be that, yes.”

“Okay, good. That’s… that’s great. Okay, yeah. I would love to.”

It’s the most awkward conversation Connor has ever had with Markus. Perhaps with any human ever, but it all worked out.

“I did it,” he tells North proudly. 

She high fives him. “Yes! Way to go. I’m so proud of you.”

She looks at him. “Now, time to get you something new to wear.”

Connor groans, but lets Kara and North drag him to the mall just like he did last time.

The game in Columbus is underwhelming, to say the least. At least he has the date to look forward to. Otherwise Columbus would be a total bust.

Connor doesn’t know anything about art. He doesn’t know anything about technique or mediums. He likes watching Markus though. 

Markus is excited, dragging him through all the pieces and pointing out different details with so much bright enthusiasm Connor can’t do anything other than smile encouragingly. Connor thinks he could watch Markus talk about art all night.

Eventually, though, the museum closes up and kicks them out.

Markus is still talking about it, gesturing grandly with eyes shining. 

Connor is in love.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. 

He’s in _love_. He’s in love with his captain. 

He’s still kind of internally freaking out, when Markus stops in front of their hotel and turns to him.

“I had a great time. Thank you for taking me.” 

Then he smiles, bright and open, and good god Connor is such a goner. He’ll deal with the being in love thing, this is too good to give up.

“Me too,” Connor says, ducking his head because the full force of Markus smile and those mismatched eyes on him is Too Much.

“Would you like to get dinner when we get back to Detroit? I’d love to take you to dinner.”

Connor nods eagerly. “I would love that.”

So then they’re just smiling at each other stupidly on the sidewalk, in the middle of the night, in front of their hotel.

They part ways in the hallway, each turning different ways to get back to their rooms.

“Goodnight,” Markus calls after him.

“Goodnight, Markus.”

Connor flops onto his bed, and stares up at the ceiling. He doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling since they walked into the museum. 

North grins at him in the morning on the way up the stairs of the plane. “Markus called my room last night to gush about you and art. Good job.”

Markus grins at him sunnily when he finally gets onto the plane, and pats the empty seat by his side.

Connor sits, and North coos at them quietly before moving further down the aisle and dropping to sit next to Simon.

Markus takes him to dinner in Detroit.

Connor takes Markus to the movies. 

They win more games. They lose some, too.

Markus kisses him for the first time sitting in the dark outside Connor’s house after they clinched their playoff spot. It’s a Thursday and the rain is coming down hard on the windshield. 

Connor doesn’t want to get out of the car. Doesn’t want to have to make the trek between the car and the front door in the downpour. Doesn’t want to say goodbye to Markus, even for the night.

He’s hesitating, turned towards the driver side of the car with his hand on the door. 

“I should probably go in.“

“Yeah. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”

He turns to get out.

“Connor,” Markus says softly.

He turns around and Markus leans over the gearshift and kisses him.

They’ve been so careful about how they do this. Taking things slow because they have the potential to hurt not only each other but the team chemistry too. 

All of that caution flies out the window the second Markus touches him. 

“Do you want to come in?” Connor whispers after several long minutes, flushed and out of breath.

“What about your dad and your brother?”

“We’ll be quiet.”

They dash up the front walk, and Connor fumbles his key with nervous anticipation.

The house is dark when they get the door open. Connor takes Markus by the hand and silently leads him to his bedroom.

Markus glances around once he’s there, taking everything in, before he turns his attention back to Connor.

“Quiet?”

Connor nods, tugging Markus towards the bed. “So, so quiet.”

Surprisingly, they manage that.

\----

Playoff hockey is so different than the regular season. Hockey is already an intense sport, but it ratchets up to the extremes during the playoffs. Penalties go uncalled, they play through injuries that would seem ridiculous any other time. 

They make it through round one; a clean sweep.

Round two goes to five games, but they make it.

Round three goes all the way to seven, but they make that too.

They’re in the finals. They’re in the damn finals.

Connor celebrates with the team, and then with Markus, just the two of them. They go back to Markus’s place, where they can be as loud as they want. 

Unfortunately, they drag the final all the way out to seven games too. They won the first two of the series, dropped the next two, won the next one, lost the one after that, and now here they are.

Game seven, thankfully with home ice advantage. 

It’s the middle of the third period, and they’re up by one goal, but they’re pinned in their own end. Connor tries to get the puck out of the zone and ends up icing it again. He curses as he watches it go. Their line is tired. They’ve had three icings in a row, and they can’t get fresh legs on the ice. 

North takes a slashing penalty off the faceoff in her frustration. 

She snaps her stick angrily on her way to the penalty box, shouting up a storm at everyone within range.

Connor hangs his head as they skate back over to the bench. The only good thing about taking a penalty now is the fact that they get to sit for a shift until he and Markus have to go back out for the second penalty kill unit.

It feels like he’s only just sat down before he’s having to scramble over the boards after Markus to take the place of the first two penalty killers on the ice. 

The puck is in the zone, but they’re keeping it out of their net. It’s all they can hope to do. They’ve got just under a minute left in the penalty and then North will be back out.

One of the other team’s forwards reels back, and lets loose a slapper towards their net. Markus is in the lane, but it catches him high in the face. The puck ricochets into the corner, but all of Connor’s attention is on Markus, who isn’t getting up.

He isn’t getting up, but play hasn’t been blown dead yet. Play hasn’t been blown dead, and Connor’s got all his attention on where Markus is staggering to his feet, holding his face.

There’s blood on the ice.

Connor is watching all of that, and not the puck that eventually goes behind him and then behind Simon in the net.

The tying goal, let in in the third period, when play should have been blown dead because Markus could have been hurt worse.

North comes out of the box, yelling. 

“You fucking assholes, that should have been whistled dead! Do you see the fucking blood on the ice?”

The bench is yelling. Their coach is yelling. All Connor can do is stare blankly at the pool of blood, and the trail Markus left behind in his wake.

It’s still tied by the end of the period, so they’re going into overtime. 

Connor trudges down into the locker room for the intermission, and Markus is sitting in his stall, already stitched up and ready to go.

North whistles when she sees him. “That is gnarly looking.”

Markus tries to smile, then winces. “Yeah, it’s not great. Like hell am I not finishing this game out, though. We’ll end it in overtime. I’m calling it, five minutes in and we’ll have that cup.”

The whole team nods and mumbles their agreement.

“We’ll get it,” Connor promises him softly when everyone moves about to do what they do to stay loose during intermission.

“We will.”

Connor nets the game winner at 16:52 in the overtime. Less than five minutes in, just as Markus had predicted. North immediately crashes into him, screaming in excitement. They go down to the ice and end up on the bottom of a huge dog pile of their teammates. 

They’ve done it. 

They won.

“You’re going to look like shit in all the celebration pictures,” Connor tells Markus, squeezing him into a tight hug.

Markus’s face is a molted blue and purple mess around his blue eye. The swelling on it is already enough that his eye is practically shut. He wouldn’t have made it much longer into an overtime, that’s for sure.

“Yeah, I don’t give a fuck about that.”

Connor nods agreeably. “Can I do something crazy?”

Markus laughs, giddy and flush with victory. “Babe, you can do whatever you want.”

So Connor kisses him. Kisses him there at center ice, in full view of their fans, the other team, their coaches, everyone at home tuned in, and the Stanley Cup itself. Markus tangles his fingers into Connor’s hair and gives as good as he gets.

Connor doesn’t regret it in the least.

\----

**[Triple Threat]**

**Cujo, 11:13pm:** get it bro  
**Nines, 11:14pm:** Congratulations.  
**Cujo,11:15pm:** markus looks awful. ew wtf is that injury. they keep zooming in on his face in the broadcast as y’all celebrate and im going to be haunted forever by that  
**Cujo, 11:46pm:** he played through a broken orbital bone???? is he fucking crazy?  
**Nines, 11:48pm:** He won a Stanley Cup with a broken orbital bone. I’m sure he thinks it’s worth it.

 

**[Cole :)]**

**11:15pm:** omg!!!!!!!!!  
**11:15pm:** Dad and I are jumping around the living room like crazy!

 

**[ICE Dad]**

**11:41pm:** I just want you to know I’m proud of you.  
**8:43am:** If one more person at the precinct talks about you kissing your boyfriend on national television again, I’m going to the nearest bar. I don’t care how early it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I aged Cole up a little to meet my needs.
> 
> I imagine Nines is somewhat like Tuukka Rask in temperament as a goalie. 
> 
> The spearing/$5k fine thing inspired by Brandon Prust spearing Brad Marchand, and saying verbatim that it was the best money he ever spent once he got the fine.
> 
> Zach Weresnki of the Columbus Blue Jackets took a puck to the face in the 2017 playoffs, while on the penalty kill, and did indeed break his orbital bone. He did also come back out to play for the rest of the game, though he didn't play in the overtime they eventually lost because his eye was swollen shut by then. It was nasty looking. Google at your own risk!
> 
> This is still set in the future, so I'm pretending that Seattle has their expansion team though it doesn't currently exist beyond the discussion phases currently.
> 
> That's all folks. Thanks for reading. Comments loved!


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